


After the Fall

by owlmoose



Series: Pieces of Thedas [28]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Afterlife, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dragon Age Lore, F/M, Fix-It, Spoilers, Ultimate Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alistair goes to his Calling, he learns the truth about the Grey Wardens who sacrifice themselves to end a Blight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a photo set on Tumblr of Alistair giving the eulogy for a Grey Warden who died to stop the Archdemon. Grey Warden lore holds that this sacrifice not only kills the Warden but destroys their soul. But what if the Grey Wardens are wrong? My own headcanon fix for this problem.
> 
> Since I don't yet have a Grey Warden OC who made the Ultimate Sacrifice, the Warden in this story is a Lyna Mahariel who romanced Alistair.

_“Friends, let us hope that she has gone to a better place…”_

Alistair had spoken those words at her funeral, projected them with conviction. He’d felt he had little choice in the matter: the people needed to hear them, he knew. They needed to believe that their Hero basked in eternal glory, that she reaped the rewards of her sacrifice somewhere beyond the Veil. 

But he knew better. And that knowledge tore at him, a poisoned thorn lodged in his heart that never entirely went away. He tried not to think about it, tried not to remember, but certain things would remind him: the roses in the garden, or Mabari pups playing in their kennels, or an Elven girl with pretty blond hair, or just the right note of wind in the trees. And then he would remember that his love was gone, and that he would never see her again, not in this world or the next. 

He carried the burden alone — for whom would he tell? Even though he'd officially stepped down from the Wardens upon being crowned, he was still bound by his oaths of secrecy, and he would not bring this pain to his friends, the former companions who had loved her nearly as much as he. So it went for fifteen years; by then, the song had grown too strong to ignore any longer, and one morning he woke and knew it was time. His advisors would have sent him off with fanfare and an honor guard, but he refused. He would perform this, his last duty, as a Grey Warden and not as king. Death was his goal, after all. Did it really matter whether it happened in the Deep Roads or on the way there?

Alone, Alistair left the palace at Denerim, alone he walked out the city gates, alone he made the long trek to Amaranthine and the entrance to the Deep Roads there, alone he ventured inside and headed for the strongest concentration of darkspawn, alone he ambushed them. Sword drawn, he bellowed his war cry and charged into the fray, a surge of pleasure filling him with each one that fell to his blade. Time ceased to have any meaning, and so did pain: he was no longer King or Grey Warden or even Alistair but a Warrior, an avatar of death. Death was all that awaited him, and he would bring as many of these vile fiends as he could along with him; soon he lost count of how many he had slain, and the cold certainty of a knife sliding into his back between his ribs came almost as a relief, even as he turned around to slice off the head of the genlock assassin who had done it. They tumbled to the ground together, and he felt the last of his life ebbing away, the song finally fading, no more noise, no more pain, just an oncoming rush of silence.

—-

The last thing Alistair expected was to open his eyes in another place, but he did, sitting up, rubbing the back of his head, blinking against the sudden light. It didn’t take long for him to recognize this as the Fade, that same odd forest he’d wandered in when the sloth demon had taken them during the Blight, except the colors were a brighter, and it felt less wrong. More like home.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “The Chantry was right.”

“In a manner of speaking,” came a voice from behind him, and Alistair amended his earlier thought: the very last thing he had expected was not to wake up in another life, but that he might not wake up there alone. He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding — if he still had a heart — and turned around to face her. Her. His Lyna, his love, here? But…

But it was her. The same face, the same voice, the same spun-gold hair, the same smile. Only the eyes were different, glowing with a blue-white light instead of the deep green he had known and loved. “It can’t be,” he breathed. “You killed the archdemon— Riordan said—”

“That my soul would be destroyed, along with that of the archdemon?” Lyna smiled, shook her head. “Riordan was wrong. As it turns out, the Grey Wardens are wrong about a great many things. When I slew the archdemon, our souls did join together, but neither of us were annihilated. Instead, we were purified, the taint cleansed from both of us. And so here we are.”

Alistair was frozen to the spot. “Both of you?”

She nodded. “Myself and Urthemiel, the Old Gold corrupted by the taint to become the archdemon, as much a prisoner as any other darkspawn. By killing the shell of the dragon, I freed him, and myself. He is with me still; we are joined now. It is… a bit odd, but I’ve gotten used to it.” She smiled again, with a tinge of sadness. “I’m sorry, Alistair, that I had no way to tell you. That you had to believe it for so long. But now you’re here, and we’re together, and nothing will part us again.” She stepped forward and reached for him, taking his hand in her slim one, and then she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. With that, Alistair could move again, her touch releasing him from his frozen state; his arms came around her and he pulled her close, letting all the years of pain and loneliness out in that one kiss, a kiss he wanted to go on forever. And maybe here, it could.


End file.
